


Kenma is not a hero.

by daienkaixoxentei



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Bullying, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Growing Up, Growing Up Together, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Kinda, M/M, Pining, Self-Esteem Issues, Slice of Life, Slow Build, There's bokuto for one scene, bokuaka if you squint, fine, idk if that counts and if i should add him in the tags, kinda angsty, tremors - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-25
Updated: 2017-01-25
Packaged: 2018-09-19 20:18:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9458873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daienkaixoxentei/pseuds/daienkaixoxentei
Summary: But somehow, against all odds, Kuroo always is.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Oh man this was supposed to be a short fluffy thing, but then it just spiraled out of control and I was screeching like a pterodactyl as I got deeper and deeper in!! Damn!!! Right, there'll be some OCs in this, but no one named and no one significant, so it's nothing you have to worry about. And spoiler, but there's an instance where someone uses the word 'Mute' as kind of an insult, and I hesitated over doing that, because "mute" is not an insult and shouldn't be used as thus. But it IS used that way by horrible people, and though it's not like it's in any way encouraged in this I just felt like I should put a warning for it. 
> 
> Thank you so, so much for reading!! Lots of love!!
> 
> PS. MementoVivere mentioned in her bookmark tags (luls yes i am indeed a big stalker that reads the bookmark tags) that my portrayal of Kenma fit the Autistic!Kenma headcanon. I didn't even know this was a thing prior to discovering this, and you were right, it was not intentional. c: But I think it is a really sweet idea! So do feel free to interpret it as thus. Thank you for letting me know about this ♥
> 
> EDIT: omg this A/N is getting super long now BUT OMG!! KENMA IS NOT A HERO HAS REALLY CUTE FANART!!!! It's made by the lovely PBOperation and you can find it [here](http://biteitwhenitssoft.tumblr.com/post/156697645545/finally-here-is-some-stuff-from-this-fic-its)! Thank you so much, once again!!! T_T

It's an ordinary summer day when his parents first shoo him out of the comfort of his room and to the park downtown. Kenma sits by himself on the loneliest bench, playing his Gameboy. He’s just purchased a new game and is excited to start playing it. He squints through the slanting afternoon sunlight at the polarized screen and presses away at the buttons. He isn’t lonely. His friends are with him constantly, separated only by the thin film of the LCD screen.

The other children his age play soccer in this distance, laughing and tumbling over one another and the ball, one of them occasionally ending up eating sand.

Kenma spares them a glance, and then returns back to the characters on the screen.

* * *

 A month passes by and the season changes. The leaves in the trees are yellowing. The children playing soccer have increased in number. Sometimes when the game is loading, Kenma watches them through the curtain of his hair. He notices some kids, ignores the others. One particular tall kid who moved into the neighborhood only last week stands out very vividly in his mind. He is a loud, boisterous fellow, with a bad temper and a worse attitude. Kenma doesn’t like him.

Today is similar. The game loads, and his perceptive eyes reach across the playground to watch his peers. The angry big kid has lost a game, and is making a very big deal out of it. He throws a tantrum. From across him, a child from the winning team says something. The big kid gets angrier. Kenma watches as he runs right across the park and slams his fist into the other boy’s jaw.

His eyes widen in surprise, and though he is all the way across the park from them, he suddenly feels very small and scared. Someone starts crying. The angry kid is still yelling.

The game finishes loading. Kenma returns his amber eyes to the screen, trying to stop his fingers from shaking.

* * *

On the day he gets approached, Kenma does nothing wrong, nothing out of the ordinary. He sits by himself as usual, hammering away on the buttons. The only exciting thing that stands out from the mundane fecund of his seven-year-old life is that he has finally managed to reach the final level of the game he’s been playing.

When the shadow falls over him, the thrill of the game quickly dissipates into cold fear. Kenma looks up timidly, but can’t manage to make eye contact with the boy. He can’t believe that they are of the same age.

“Why do you always sit by yourself, weirdo?” The kid sneers at him, a disdainful expression on his face. He takes an interest in the Gameboy in his hands, makes a grab at it. “What’s that you’re playing? Why don’t you give me a turn?”

Kenma’s fingers are shaking, but he’s holding onto the Gameboy tightly. His throat is dry, and he's quivering with fear, but he is a warrior – a fighter like Link, the hero in his videogame.

The boy doesn’t appreciate his bravery. His expression darkens, and Kenma’s heart leaps into his throat in terror. His fingers slack away from the Gameboy, the world blurring as tears fill his eyes. His lips tremble like the rest of his body, small whimpers emanating from his tiny, frail body. He wonders if the boy would go away now, since he’s gotten what he came for.

But he doesn’t. He yanks on Kenma’s arm and he tumbles out of his bench and onto the coarse ground. He scrapes his elbows and knees in the process. Kenma is shaking like a frightened kitten, unable to even move as the boy towers over him. He blinks away the tears, but more keep coming. He blinks again, and the tears streak down his cheeks.

For the very first time, Kenma realizes that he is not a hero. He cowers, waiting for more of the abuse that is sure to come. But it doesn’t.

Instead, he hears a voice.

“Hey, what’s going on?”

At first, he doesn’t even dare to look up. He just clenches his eyes shut and curls up into himself, too afraid to think or move or speak. He keeps waiting for the pain to come, but it doesn’t.

Then, Kenma gets the courage to lift his eyes.

A boy taller than the bully stood near them. Kenma has seen him before, playing with the older kids. He has spiky black hair and dark angry eyes, and the way he is silhouetted against the sun reminds him of Cecil Harvey in his darkened armor, the protagonist from his favorite final fantasy game.

The first thought he has is that _this_ is how a hero looks.

The bully says something back, but his voice is timid. Kenma can tell he feels intimidated by the newcomer, and he feels a twinge of hope. His mini-Cecil doesn’t even waste his time listening to the poor excuse.

“Give that back,” he says, and promptly snatches the Gameboy away from the stunned boy. “And _be_ nice to people, or else!”

Kenma wishes he could stop shaking, so that he could at least appear a bit more dignified before his hero. But he can’t stop trembling, and he can’t stop crying, and he kind of hates himself for it. If he can’t save himself, the least he could do is thank the one who saved _him._

Pseudo-Cecil approaches him, and Kenma instinctively recoils. His mind tells him not to, but the shock of being pulled from the bench along with the stinging in his scraped joints is still fresh to his physicality, and his seven-year-old body can’t handle the sudden change very easily.

He sniffles miserably.

“H-Hey, it’s okay,” the older boy says, smiling and kneeling down next to him. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

_I know_ , Kenma wants to say, but he can only sob and shiver.

The boy studies him for a second, and then inspiration lights up in his eyes. Kenma eyes him warily, unsure of what he is planning. “Here, look,” he says excitedly, holding out his Gameboy towards him. “I got this back for you! Do you want to play it some more?”

Kenma is still terrified, but he manages a shaky nod. Feebly, he allows the other boy to gently pull him to his feet and guide him back to the bench. Once Kenma clambers onto it weakly, he holds out the Gameboy.

This is familiar territory for him, and it comes instinctually. Sniffling, he takes the Gameboy back and reboots it, thankful that he had saved the game upon reaching the final level. He looks up shyly at the Pseudo-Cecil, wondering dismally if he was going to go rejoin his friends.

Then, surprising Kenma, he drops onto the bench next to him with an amiable smile and takes a peek at the screen. Kenma suddenly feels self-conscious. He is a pro at all videogames, but he doesn’t know if he’s equipped to impress a _real_ life hero.

“Whoa, that looks scary!” He comments cheerfully in reference to the final boss that has flickered onto the screen, and Kenma blinks his gaze over to him, surprised. A hero like _him_ finds a loser like _Ganon_ scary?

“He… He’s Ganon… the final boss.” He finds himself murmuring.

“Hey, so you _can_ talk after all!” The other boy seems very pleased by this. Kenma just blinks in response. His cheeks are streaked with tears and his elbows and knees are bleeding, but he hardly notices.

“So have you beaten him? This Ganon guy?” The boy continues to ask, and Kenma blinks again, this time slower.

“Only… only once.”

“Wow!” He exclaims. “That’s really cool. I’m horrible at videogames, so I can’t even imagine how hard it must be to beat the _final boss!”_

Kenma’s eyes turn to him, surprised. The _hero_ thinks that _he_ , the crybaby, is cool? He can’t believe it. He continues to press the buttons on the Gameboy, wishing he has something to say to the older boy. He’s never, ever made a friend before – and he never, ever wanted to. Before today.

“It’s… not that hard.” He manages to mumble out. “I… I can teach you if you like.”

The boy laughs. “Thanks, but I don’t think it’ll help much.” He shrugs. “I’m just _really_ bad at it.”

Kenma blinks his eyes back to the screen, continuing to press away at the buttons. He realizes that this is the first person he’s met who hasn’t told him to stop playing his game and go play with the other kids.

“Say,” the boy says after a while of watching Kenma attack the boss. “What’s your name, anyway?”

Kenma presses a few buttons. “…Kenma,” he sighs out barely audibly, but the boy catches it.

“Kenma, is it?” He’s grinning from ear-to-ear. “I’m Kuroo! Nice to meet you.”

Kenma looks at Kuroo, then averts his eyes quickly. “Nice to meet you, Kuro.” He intones back, tasting the name on his tongue.

“No, no.” The boy interrupts at once, and Kenma looks at him curiously. “Kuro _o._ Not Kuro.”

Kenma blinks again. “K…Kuro?”

“ _No_ ,” the boy tries again. “Kuro _o_.”

Kenma finds himself flushing with embarrassment. He’s spoken so quietly all his life that he has trouble extending words. “K…Kuro.” He mumbles out in a small voice, feeling inadequate.

The other boy must have noticed his mood shift, for suddenly he takes a brand new approach. “Kuro’s nice!” He grins cheerfully, trying to get Kenma to look up again. “That can be my nickname! What about you, Kenma? What do your friends call you?”

Kenma looks at him, blinking. He doesn’t have any friends.

Kuroo seems to get the message. “I’ll just call you Kenma.” He says blithely, turning his eyes to the screen just in time to see the main character vanquish the final boss. He emanates a surprised yell. Startled, Kenma looks at him.

“You beat him!” He says excitedly, his eyes wide. “You beat the final boss!”

This time, Kenma feels the hints of a smile play on his face. His lips twitch with humor. This Kuroo boy was very smart and very cool, but also kind of lame and stupid. That was a strange discovery.

A grin extends on Kuroo’s face as well, possibly for having finally thawed out the silent, reserved boy. Both boys smile at each other for a fraction of a second, and then they return their eyes to the screen again, watching the final cutscene play out.

* * *

 After that, Kuroo sits with him every day, watching him play game after game. At first Kenma feels anxious, worried that the unexciting routine might bore him out, and often punctuates his silent game-playing with several carefully concealed looks at his new friend. But Kuroo _never_ seems bothered by his quietness or unwillingness to play with the other kids, and would sit by his side and jabber away about the many unimportant things of trivial significance that occurred in his daily life.

Kenma grows close to Kuroo very quickly, and they are quick to learn a lot of things about each other.

Despite his large stature, Kuroo is only a year older than Kenma. He does well in school, even better than Kenma. But Kuroo _hates_ homework, and he complains about it to Kenma every single day. Kenma does not mind it as much, and often offers to help Kuroo finish it together. Sometimes, Kuroo plays volleyball in his free time. Kenma only plays his Gameboy.

Kenma does not have any other friends his age other than Kuroo, but Kuroo is friends with _everyone_ in second grade. Kids of varying shapes and sizes would approach him as they sit on the bench together and talk for a while, some inviting him to come over and play. Kenma always feels very small during these encounters, as almost all of these newcomers ignore him. He deflates slightly every time someone asks Kuroo to come play, but he has no cause to because Kuroo’s answer never changes.

“Thank you, but I’m playing with Kenma, now!” A cheerful grin. “Maybe next time!”

But next time never comes. Kuroo would then lean back towards the game, point at a character and say something. Kenma would give the tiniest of smiles and quietly answer the question.

* * *

 Two seasons pass. It is spring now, and Kenma is in second grade. Kuroo is in third grade, and on their school’s volleyball team. He stops by the gymnasium to secretly watch him play sometimes. Volleyball looks more interesting than soccer, but maybe that’s because Kuroo seems to enjoy it so much. Kuroo is really good at it too, almost better than the fifth graders.

The pair has upgraded from playing in the park to going over to each other’s houses. Kuroo is presently over at Kenma’s house, playing with a volleyball aimlessly in his room. Kenma sits next to him on the bed and plays his Gameboy silently. Usually Kuroo endeavors to fill the silence between them with the happenings of his life, but on this particular day he remains very quiet.

Kenma feels nervous, wondering if he’s accidentally done something wrong. Or maybe Kuroo is finally bored with him, after all…

After a long time of silence, Kuroo finally speaks up.

“Kenma, I was… wondering,” he starts anxiously, and Kenma pauses the game to pay him some attention. “Do you want to help me practice volleyball?”

Silence.

Kenma’s eyes widen, his heart thudding in his chest from fear. His fingers begin to tremble. Volleyball? He doesn’t _know_ how to play volleyball. Kuroo is a _genius_ at volleyball, and if he finds out that Kenma is horrible at it… what if he doesn’t want to be friends with him anymore? What if…

(But a small voice in his head gently reminds him that Kuroo is _never_ disappointed with what he does.)

But he isn’t even sure if he _wants_ to play. Kenma hasn’t ever played even so much as _softball_ outside, much less something athletic like volleyball—

“Kenma?” Kuroo asks again tentatively, his dark eyes worried. “You... You can say no if you want, you know. I’ll understand.”

Kenma considers it. Briefly.

(He doesn’t want to say no, does he?)

His trembling fingers clench into fists around his Gameboy. He blinks.

“Al…right.” He mumbles, placing the device on his bed and slowly standing up. “I’ll… practice volleyball with you, Kuro.”

Kuroo’s eyes widen with disbelief, and his entire face lights up in delight. “Really?” He gets to his feet excitedly and grabs Kenma’s wrist. “Let’s go! I’ll teach you how to set, and then I can practice spiking with you!”

Kenma feels overwhelmed. He doesn’t even know what setting and spiking is.

(But does he mind?)

He smiles to himself, a very tiny upturn of the corner of his lips. In his entire life, this is the first time he’s _ever_ felt excited to go out and play anything.

* * *

Kenma is walking home from school when he first realizes that something is wrong.

An older boy he recognizes immediately to be one of Kuroo’s classmates falls into step with him, and he immediately cowers, shrinking away ever so slightly. He subtly increases his pace, hoping that it’s nothing more than coincidence.

No such luck.

“Hey, Kozume- _kun_!” The friendly suffix is used sardonically, and Kenma instantly understands that he is in danger. “I’ve got a question for you.”

His fingers are trembling as he comes to a gradual halt, his breathing heavy with terror. Kenma hates it when this happens, as it is such an obvious sign of his cowardice.

_I am not a hero_. He tells himself as soon as the fear fills him, the result of so many years of internalized inadequacy. _I am not a hero._

Kenma slowly turns back to face the oncoming threat. His eyes widen in surprise when he realizes the third grader is _right_ behind him, much closer than he anticipated. There is nothing but loathing, hostility and… is that _jealousy_ in the boy’s eyes?

_Jealous…? Why is he jealous of_ me…?

He is shaking again, a callback to the bully from last year. But this time he can’t tear his eyes away from the unrestrained loathing in the other boy’s eyes even though he is wheezing from fear.

“Tetsurou is _my_ best friend!” He says angrily. “Not yours! Why are you stealing him from me!?”

Kenma doesn’t have a response. He stares at him like a deer caught in headlights, breathing heavily. This is the first time he’s realized that Kuroo’s _other_ friends might be displeased with them playing together.

Perhaps enraged by what he assumed was Kenma’s apathy, the boy grabbed Kenma by the front of his shirt and shook him violently. Kenma might have yelped as he begun to _truly_ quiver with fear, but he doesn’t realize anything except for the unabated fear pumping through his veins.

_Not a hero._

“Can’t you speak, you mute?” The boy demands furiously, and Kenma’s throat goes dry.

“I-I…” he stammers out quietly, eyes watering. “S-Sorry…”

The boy scoffs and releases him. Kenma sighs in relief, but then he gasps upon being shoved roughly to the ground. The asphalt is rocky, and he scrapes his palms very badly. They sting with pain.

(A part of him hopes Kuroo would come to rescue him again.)

The boy kicks him in the side of his stomach. His ears are still ringing from the fall, but he registers the sharp pain flooding through his torso. He cowers in onto himself.

(Another part of him is too afraid of ever being seen with Kuroo again.)

Kenma starts crying, and the spectacle must have finally attracted the attention of some much older kids walking by them, because all of a sudden he is being pulled to his feet by a mass of faceless strangers he can’t properly comprehend. But there is no compassion in any of their eyes, no friendliness, only pity. Because Kenma is not cool, and Kenma is not a hero.

He wonders whether he might have forgotten how to breathe.

Rapid fire questions are asked from all sides, but everything is still hurting and his ears are still ringing, so he can barely hear them.

Terrified, he turns on his heel and runs away from the scene as fast as he can.

* * *

He comes home with his shoulders hunched, hiding his bleeding palms. He slips by his parents in the living room quietly, with nothing more than a quick glance to tell them he is home. They smile at him, unaware of the turmoil raging in his head and the pain in his body, and Kenma feels a thousand times worse. Not only is he too cowardly to protect himself, he doesn’t even have the bravery to fess up to his weakness.

Confusion fills him. Why is he like this? Why can’t he stand up to people? Kuroo and the other boys have no problems with confrontations so why is he, Kenma, so much weaker than everyone else?

_I am not a hero._

Kenma hates himself, more than anything else he hates himself. He doesn’t deserve to be _anyone_ ’s friend, much less someone as cool and as strong as Kuroo. The boy from before is much more worthy of his time.

Lips quivering, he runs and flies up the stairs. He gets into his room and locks the door quickly just in time for the tears to spill from his eyes. His bag drops to the floor and he sinks to the ground in a ball, desperately sobbing to himself.

_I am not… and will never be, a hero._

* * *

Of course, Kuroo immediately notices something wrong.

“Kenma,” he asks casually after coming over to his house later that day, wearing his usual grin. “Do you want to go outside and play volleyball?”

Kenma’s fingers are still shaking around his console, partly due to the consistent sting in his frail little palms. He blinks slowly, then for the first time ever, declines. Kuroo waits patiently for a reason, and Kenma swallows nervously. He can feel Kuroo’s sharp eyes follow the movement, and then drop to his trembling fingers perceptively. He tries to force them to stop shaking, but the only thing he accomplishes is to get them to relax altogether. His Gameboy falls out of his hands and onto the floor by his feet.

Kuroo is standing in front of him in an instant. “What’s wrong?” He demands anxiously, not even bothering to keep his voice even. All traces of the smile he wore has disappeared from his face.

And under this powerful, worried stare and under the scrutiny he has for himself and the rest of the world appears to have for him, everything just becomes too much for the poor young boy. Kenma gives one pitiful sniffle, then another, and promptly bursts into tears.

Kuroo’s eyes fly to his now empty hands, trembling like an electric current is running through them. He sees the dust and the scrapes on his skin, the dried blood around the thin garish lines.

“Kenma!” He says, alarmed, but when Kenma flinches he stops and then continues again in a softer voice. “Did… did someone push you?”

Kenma looks at him miserably, the entire incident spelled out on his face. Kuroo grows very quiet, his fists clenching, and Kenma sees his expression darkening. For a terrifying second, he worries about whether Kuroo is disappointed with him… angry with _him_ , and instinctively cowers back amidst the tears.

Kuroo is _right_ to be disappointed with him. He is the hero of the game, as tough and strong as Cecil Harvey, as willful and courageous as Link. Kenma is… Kenma is just a Goomba, fading away into the background, waiting for more and more people to step on him as they progress through their lives.

This thought spurs more tears. Are people going to be stepping on him his entire life?

Then Kuroo’s expression grows really sad, and Kenma realizes with a start that it is not in Kenma that he is disappointed.

It is in himself.

“I can’t believe I wasn’t there to stop it…” He mutters to himself, dropping onto the bed next to him. Kenma hiccups softly and blinks his gaze to him, still stunned. “Why, though? Why do people just push each other around for no reason?”

But it wasn’t for no reason. It happened because Kenma is not worthy of being around a hero like Kuroo. It happened _because_ of Kenma. It is Kenma’s fault.

“S…Sorry, Kuro,” he mumbles out quietly, too young to know how to voice all his insecurities. “I…I can’t stop anyone from hurting me…”

Kuroo’s eyes widened in surprise. “What? No, no, Kenma,” he says gently, sounding years more mature than his actual age. “You don’t have to be sorry. You did nothing wrong.”

But he _did._ He is too weak to stop any of it, and that is what he did wrong. If he was strong and smart like Kuroo, nobody would mind them playing together. And if anyone did, he could stand up to them himself. Kuroo doesn’t have to carry the burden of his battles as well.

He sits quietly, wallowing in his sadness and staring at his tiny feet, so small compared to Kuroo’s, who is already growing taller and wider every day.

_If only I could be a hero._

* * *

The incident from that day is far from being the last bullying Kenma experiences during his miserable course of grade school, but it _does_ stand out at being the most drastic attack he faces. This is mostly due to Kuroo, who, to Kenma’s increasing guilt, takes it upon himself to walk him home every single day. It is not far out of his way or anything, but Kenma mostly feels terrible about ‘stealing him from his other friends’, as that other boy admitted.

Most of the jibes he gets are subtle, aimed through whispers at his back. _Crybaby… wimp…_ they say… _weirdo… mute… loser… ghost…_ He hears a great multitude of things being said about him, some of which he is too young even to understand.

But as a whole, his life remains more or less the same. Though the comments still sting him, and his fear-induced tremors are always with him, he gradually grows numb to the harsh words, surprisingly developing a quiet sarcasm and quick wit as a defense.

Eventually, Kuroo gets him to come outside and play volleyball again, and perhaps as a result of his daily practicing, he becomes greatly adept at the setter position as the years come and go. Kuroo is always quick to compliment him, and once he graduated he often tells Kenma that even the official team setter at his new school couldn’t compare to him in terms of skill.

In his last year, Kenma feared that the bullying might grow worse due to Kuroo’s absence, but most of his tormentors were a year older and left with the latter when he went to junior high. To his gratefulness, his last year at elementary passes without much drama and before he knows it, it is time for him to sit the junior high entrance exam as well.

He graduates gladly without even a twinge of sadness, glad to be rid of the bad memories. He goes to the same school as Kuroo did, partly because he wanted to, but mostly because Kuroo pestered him immensely to do so. This leaves him feeling inexplicably pleased.

On his second day of junior high, Kuroo drops by his home after practice with a volleyball tucked under his arm, asking with a grin whether he wanted to come play outside for a bit. They practice spiking and setting.

“Kenma,” Kuroo suggests as he casually throws him the ball, his voice already lot deeper than it was in grade school. “You should join the volleyball team.”

Kenma still hasn’t grown out of his alien fear of experiencing new things, though he _has_ grown a bit better at hiding his tremors. With a quiet sort of contemplativeness, he receives the ball with his outstretched hands and then pushes it into the air for Kuroo to spike. Swallowing down the lump of nervousness that rises to his throat immediately, he responds softly without looking at his best friend.

“I’ll think about it…”

Kuroo nods back and prepares for another round, knowing that this is the best he is going to get for now.

* * *

The year passes by quickly, seasons flying by like days until it is spring again and Kuroo is in his final year of school. He asks Kenma to join carefully and relentlessly, determined to thaw him out though never in a way that overwhelms him _too_ much. Kenma might have never agreed if it weren’t for one incident that occurs early in his days as a second year.

He and Kuroo are walking home together, mostly out of habit now than necessity, when a pretty third-year girl approaches them, all shiny and cute with her long brown hair, glossy lips and full figure. She gives Kuroo a wide, friendly smile and when Kuroo returns the grin in kind, Kenma feels a sudden, inexplicable twinge of jealousy.

“Tetsurou-kun,” and she calls him by his first name, too. “I was wondering if you would like to go out with me this Saturday.”

“Out?” Kuroo says in a teasing voice, not one bit embarrassed, and Kenma feels his face growing hot with envy. “Hmm… a tempting offer, but”—

“But?” The girl challenges. Kenma already feels invisible, but he feels so horrible just then that he wants to melt into the shadows and fade away forever.

Kuroo is wearing a suave grin Kenma recognizes to be _flirty_ , his eyes low and hooded as he responds. “But… I think a girl like _you_ can do much better than an old slob like me.”

A girl like _her._ Kenma feels even scrawnier and bonier than he already is, and he suddenly hates everything about his appearance, from the hair hanging from his head like ebony sheets to his knobby, skinny knees. He frowns. He is very used to hating his demeanor, but hating how he looks has usually been a foreign concept to him.

“Trust me, Tetsurou-kun,” the girl responds just as playfully. “I know _exactly_ what I want.”

And Kenma sees the grin stretch on Kuroo’s face like the Cheshire cat, and knows he has already lost this battle he hasn’t even known he was fighting. When the girl winks and waves, slyly brushing Kuroo’s shoulder as she went by him, Kuroo makes no protests. Kenma feels something heavy fall into the pits of his stomach, and turns his eyes towards his feet, wondering why there is suddenly a familiar prickling sensation in his eyes.

* * *

In retrospect, he should have seen it coming.

A hero always gets his princess. Like Link has Zelda and Mario has Peach, he should have wondered when a hero like Kuroo would be getting his _own_ princess.

(Kenma was no hero, and he _definitely_ wasn’t a princess.)

He should have seen it coming.

* * *

“Kuro,” he says softly but determinedly, cutting into the silence.

“Mm?”

Kenma steels himself, clenching his fists to stop his fingers from trembling.

“I’ll do it.” He quietly intones. “I’ll join the volleyball team.”

And to see the wide smile that stretched on Kuroo’s face, one would have thought he hit the lottery. It cut through the afternoon sun sharper and brighter than everything else in the vicinity, blinding him and making his heart flutter.

Kenma could have tanned himself in the sheer brilliance of it. Looking at Kuroo smile like that _because_ of him, he almost forgets the horrible sinking feeling he gets whenever he thinks of the curvy third-year girl with the pretty smile and the awesome hair.

(Almost.)

* * *

The girls come and go, each lasting varying amounts of time. From a week to a month, they never manage to stick with Kuroo for too long. Kenma feels a strange vindictive pleasure he cannot fathom whenever Kuroo sheepishly admits that he’s broken up with yet another girl, but the feeling is quick to subdue as soon as he gets back with a new one the very next day.

He frowns, wondering why his face feels all hot and angry whenever he sees Kuroo with a girl. He was ‘the best friend’, right? Isn’t he supposed to be the one who is cheering Kuroo on? Greeting him with a fist bump and a ‘hell yeah’ whenever he gets a new girlfriend? He tries to bring himself to feel happy, but all he can manage to muster from within himself is a strange sort of self-pity.

The year draws to a close once more, and graduation steadily approaches for Kuroo. He gets busier and busier, more and more occupied with school and studies, and subsequently has less and less time for Kenma. But while the Kenma from six years ago would have melted into the background of Kuroo’s life sadly and faded away without a second thought, the Kenma today is a different person.

Using the cellphone he received from his parents earlier that year, he sends his best friend a text:

_applepi:_ Kuro. Are you busy?

He taps the screen impatiently, waiting for Kuroo to respond. When he finally does, it is this:

_kingkuroo:_ nah. just studyn for exams. whats up? did smth happen?

Despite the many years that has gone by, Kuroo has never really grown out of his instinct for worry whenever it concerns Kenma.

_applepi:_ Oh. No, don’t worry. Can I come see you right now?

_kingkuroo_ : lol nvm about that im already on my way to ur place

Kenma can’t resist the small smile that rises to his lips.

_applepi:_ Okay. Stupid Kuro.

_kingkuroo:_ heyyy dont be mean to me or im going back to studying physics

_applepi:_ Like you would do that. And stop texting while you’re walking, idiot.

_Kingkuroo:_ what? ok fine

He picks up his DS for a while (a graduation present from his parents) and aimlessly allows his trainer to mill around in the tall grass to fight wild Pokémon. He is still slightly smiling to himself when he hears Kuroo enter his house, jovially greet and converse with his parents for a few short minutes and then bound up the stairs. 

Kenma is battling a wild Musharna with his Servine as the door clicks open to admit a grinning Kuroo into the room.

“So I broke up with my girlfriend.” He says upon entry, a common way of greeting for him now.

“Again?” Kenma quips quietly, trying to hide his instinctual joy.

Kuroo shakes his head as he drops onto the chair at Kenma’s study desk. “She didn’t like volleyball very much.”

Kenma shrugs, reminding himself that Kuroo would get a new girlfriend soon, anyway, and that there is no point in feeling that inexplicable hopefulness he is feeling. The Musharna faints before he can capture it. With a slight frown, he mills about the grass again to look for a new one.

“Say, Kenma,” Kuroo says suddenly. “Do you have any girls you like?”

Kenma’s cheeks heat up. His heart begins to race. He wonders why. There truthfully weren’t _any_ girls he liked…

But then why is he getting so flustered?

“No.” He sighs out, a bit too quickly.

Kuroo notices, and a grin spreads over his face as he turns to face Kenma. “He-ey, _you’re_ lying!” He accuses gleefully, and the flush on Kenma’s cheeks darkens. He can’t fathom why.

(Kuroo’s eyes are boring into him, making his fingertips tingle, his palms sweat.)

“No, Kuroo.” He mumbles out embarrassedly. “I really do not like anybody.”

Kuroo tilts his head, smirking. Kenma’s flush deepens. “Oh, _sure._ ” He laughs, a mischievous, cheerful sound that he has grown very accustomed to over the years. “C’mon, Kenma, you can tell me.”

But he _doesn’t like anybody._

(Kuroo runs a hand through his hair, making the muscles in his arm flex. His lips are upturned as they open and shape around the word, “Kenma”. His laugh rings through his mind.)

(Kenma’s heart beats faster.)

“Kuro,” Kenma’s fingers are trembling like they do when he gets afraid. But there isn’t a threat in the room, there’s only Kuroo. He has _no_ cause to be afraid of Kuroo…

(“Kenma,” Kuroo would murmur, and then smile.)

… Right?

(His heart is racing.)

“Kuro, I don’t like anybody.”

To his immense relief, Kuro relents, though he _is_ still wearing a knowing smile. He leans back casually against Kenma’s chair, letting his lithe, long legs stretch out in front of him as he crosses his arms over his wide chest.

“Mm, alright.” He hums, and then winks. Kenma nearly chokes on the air he breathes in.

(But why? Why is he feeling this way? Why is he… why is he under so much pressure when being grilled by Kuroo like this? It’s just Kuroo… his best friend… his _only_ real friend… he has no cause to panic, right?)

(His fingers continue to tremble.)

_I am not a hero._

Kenma exhales shakily, and definitively lowers his amber eyes to the screen, trying to slow the racing beat of his heart. Even still, it is not until Kuroo begins a new topic that his nerves truly calm down.

_Not a hero._

* * *

When Kuroo graduates junior high, volleyball practice becomes routine for Kenma, rather than something to look forward to. Perhaps as a result, he notices Kuroo’s absence in the spectrum of his school life far more than he did when they bridged the gap between elementary and junior high.

Despite this, Kenma finds himself feeling grateful for the space he gets to himself. This relief is also followed by a long line of mental questions, the most prominent of them being: _Why?_ Because really, why? It isn’t that he doesn’t enjoy Kuroo’s presence or anything, no, rather the opposite…

Truthfully, Kenma knows the answer to every question.

(Kuroo’s smile would flash into his mind again, his eyes warm and passionate.)

But he doesn’t like it one bit.

* * *

Kuroo hasn’t stopped his wild dating spree. His reputation as a teasing, sly playboy keeps growing day by day, yet the girls keep flocking to him like enemy mobs would to a game’s protagonist.

Kenma notices something remarkably different than junior high about the new stream of girls that enters and leaves their lives. It isn’t just that they wear a lot more makeup, and it isn’t that they seem even more experienced and – to his unfathomable dismay – _even_ prettier…

It’s that they are a _lot_ touchier. The innocent hand-holding and shoulder brushing of junior high are of days long gone past. Kenma now has to tolerate lengthy hugs and kisses on the lips whenever a girl joins in on his hangouts with Kuroo.

Kenma always averts his eyes when Kuroo engages in any form of physical affection with a girl. Still, he can’t help but feel dismal whenever it happens. No matter how quickly he looks away, his heart would quicken, a lump would form in his throat, and his stomach would sink.

_Wrong_. His heart would scream at him. _This is wrong._

But Kenma is never able to explain to himself why.

Not until one day, when he is met head-on with a startling realization.

It is an innocent Friday evening, and it begins with a text he sends to Kuroo as he quietly bids his parents bye and slips out of the house:

_applepi:_ Kuroo? You’re home, right? I’m coming over like you told me to.

Kuroo lives only two doors down, but since he is a fast responder Kenma is surprised to not have received a reply by the time he arrives at Kuroo’s front door. He knocks once quietly, and then lets himself in like he always does.

“Oh, hello dear.” Kuroo’s mother smiles at him warmly. Kenma nods back. “Kuroo has a friend over, but I’m sure he won’t mind. Go on upstairs.”

_A friend?_

Kenma blinks curiously. What _friend_ would Kuroo have over besides him?

(In truth, he should have known and stopped himself right there. It would have saved himself a lot of turmoil.)

Curiously, he climbs up the stairs quietly, as always.

And as always, he doesn’t bother to knock before entering Kuroo’s unlocked room.

What he sees nearly makes him lose his lunch.

The pair is pressed against the wall passionately. Kuroo has his jeans unzipped and his shirt off. His newest girl isn’t wearing her top, and Kuroo’s body is curved around her provocatively, their lips and bodies pressed against one another. Kenma sees the way Kuroo’s arm is reaching up the girl’s skirt, right between her legs, and he begins to hyperventilate.

(Kozume Kenma is not a hero.)

They pull apart, Kuroo’s hand quickly retracting itself from underneath the skirt, but Kenma has already seen everything, the image burnt into every crevice of his mind. The sudden shock makes him tremble and quiver from head to toe, makes him _tear up_ even though he doesn’t want to cry, he doesn’t want to humiliate himself not only in front of _Kuroo_ but even this unfamiliar girl who is so much better than him in every single way.

(He feels seven years old again, helplessly staring up at that one little kid from so long ago, waiting for the abuse to come.)

“Kenma, wait…” Kuroo starts apologetically, but Kenma hardly hears him.

(No hero is coming to save him this time.)

“I…” He chokes out, feeling tears brimming his eyes. “I’ll go.”

Kuroo calls out from behind him, but he has already started running. He flings himself down the stairs, past a very confused Kuroo’s mother, and out of the house. He doesn’t stop running until he is all the way down the street on his front porch. Even then, he pauses only to take a heaving breath before flipping his door open and flying up the stairs.

(He can’t help but recall that one time in second grade when that boy pushed him and he came home with tears and bleeding limbs.)

(He’d live that day all over again.)

(He’d take the pain over and over again.)

(A thousand times.)

(A _million_ times.)

(So long as it meant he would forget the image of Kuroo and that girl burned into the back of his mind.)

Kenma locks himself in his room and slams back against the door, his entire body shaking in fear and hyperventilation. His quivering fingers fly to his dark hair and clasp onto his head, trying to _physically_ tear the picture out of his mind.

(“Kenma.” Kuroo said, his eyes apologetic.)

Why? Why is he feeling this way? Why is he feeling like Kuroo _betrayed_ him or something? Why is he embarrassing himself like this? Kuroo was just his friend, he was _only_ a friend…

He was his _best friend…_

(Kenma is not a hero.)

His _only_ friend…

_“Hey, what’s going on?”_

Kenma forces himself to get up from the door. He falls onto his bed, grabs a pillow and hugs it close to his chest, where his heart is thudding violently. He takes a deep breath and tries to get himself to stop shaking, but all he can think of is _Kuroo_ , his smile, his hair, the way he says his name, the way he walks and talks and quips and jokes…

_“Kenma, is it?”_

_“I’m Kuroo! Nice to meet you.”_

There is no end to his tears.

Kenma shuts his eyes, trying to run away from the miscellaneous images and thoughts of Kuroo that continue to fill his mind, trying run away from the anguish of it all. The darkness only makes it worse.

The tears stream down his cheeks, punctuating the heavy, horrible silence with his sobs.

(Kenma is not a hero.)

_“You should join the volleyball team.”_

(Not a hero, at all.)

_“Thank you, but I’m playing with Kenma, now!”_

(And he never will be.)

_“You beat him! You beat the final boss!”_

But somehow, against all odds, Kuroo always is.

And that is the heartbreaking, painful, _agonizing_ reason why Kenma knows he will always, _always_ love Kuroo.

* * *

Of course Kuroo leaves him a thousand worried messages.

The first thing Kenma does when he wakes up the next morning, feeling punch drunk and sick to the stomach, is reach over to his bedside table and instinctively check his phone.

He regrets it immediately.

_kingkuroo:_ kenma???

_kingkuroo:_ gdi kenma pls respond, ur worrying me so much

_kingkuroo:_ at least tell me u got home safe

_kingkuroo:_ kenma???

_kingkuroo:_ kenma r u angry? im so sorry, i really forgot we were supposed to hang

_kingkuroo:_ listen, ill make it up to u somehow i promise

_kingkuroo:_ just pls tell me whether ur okay or not

Of course. Of course. Kenma makes a fool out of himself and mortally embarrasses the guy and he’s still worried about whether he got home safe.

_kingkuroo:_ god kenma please, ur driving me crazy over here

Sighing, he hastily sends a response.

_applepi:_ Hi, Kuro, sorry. I fell asleep when I got home. And I’m not mad at you. I was just taken by surprise.

There, at least that was some facet of the truth.

_kingkuroo:_ KENMA!!! holy shit ur alive!! i was worried sick. and NO im sorry i should have remembered you were coming

_applepi:_ Kuro, really. I just want to forget it happened. 

Again, some facet of the truth.

_kingkuroo:_ really? u sure???

_applepi:_ I’m very sure.

_kingkuroo:_ ok ok

_kingkuroo:_ hey listen can i come see u right now?

No. No, absolutely not. Kenma doesn’t know how he’ll _ever_ get the courage to face Kuroo again.

_applepi:_ Thanks, Kuro, but I think I want to sleep in. I don’t think I’m awake yet.

_kingkuroo:_ kenma, i _know_ u ok, and I know ur enough of an asshole to not text me back if u want to sleep in. whatever’s wrong, u can talk to me about it. u know u dont have to hide anything from me

Kenma sighs. Sometimes it is truly annoying how perceptive Kuroo can be of his feelings.

_applepi:_ I’ll tell you when I see you? I’ll come over later today.

_kingkuroo:_ yo, promise? ur not mad at me, right?

_applepi:_ Stop being stupid, Kuro. Promise.

_kingkuroo:_ ok good. thnx buddy

_applepi:_ Sure.

And Kenma rolls over onto his back, staring dismally at his ceiling and wondering what kind of story he’ll have to come up with in order to appease Kuroo. Because there is _no_ way in hell he’s coming clean to him about the _true_ reason why he freaked out last night.

(Kenma is not a hero.)

No way in hell.

* * *

Kenma doesn’t have a plan even by the time the sun passes way past its zenith to hang low in the middle of the sky, coloring the lazy summer afternoon in hazy reds and golds. But for the first time, he puts on a brave face and decides to make up something along the way.

_I’ll just tell him it caught me by surprise,_ he convinces himself as he hesitates in front of the door to Kuroo’s room, _and that I was embarrassed to see the girl naked or something… it’s not like I haven’t lied to anyone before or anything…_

Kenma takes a deep breath, and opens the door.

“Oh, thank god,” he hears Kuroo say immediately. “You idiot, you had me worried sick!”

Kenma can’t bring himself to look at Kuroo, so he just looks down at his own toes, his feet still so small and frail compared to his peers. He tucks a lock of black hair behind his ear, and Kuroo appears in his periphery, sitting on his bed and looking extremely relieved. 

“Sorry, Kuro…” he mumbles out as he walks over to sit on the chair by Kuroo’s desk. He settles down in the chair and is immediately aghast to find that his hands are already trembling with fear. He clenches them, pressing them determinedly against his thighs.

(No hero is coming to save him this time.)

But he makes the mistake of looking up at Kuroo, at his worried, anxious expression, and the lie he has so meticulously practiced turns to dust in his throat. Kenma’s eyes widen, and he feels panicky and cornered, because he has overestimated himself (once again) and he is _not ready_ to face Kuroo after what happened last night.

Kuroo _always_ knows when he is lying. Even _if_ Kenma manages to choke out the words, Kuroo will see the dishonestly spelt across his face and in his trembling hands, and grill him until the actual truth comes tumbling out.

Because Kuroo _always_ knows.

Then, inspiration strikes him.

He’ll just have to tell the truth, then.

“I…” he says, closing his eyes to take a deep breath and collect himself. Then, he exhales lightly and opens his eyes, feeling calmer than before. And all at once, the words spill out through his lips.

“I’m gay.”

…

For one horrible, heart-wrenching moment, Kuroo doesn’t respond, and Kenma wonders whether he made a mistake.

_Oh…_ He thinks, his heart sinking. _What if Kuroo thinks I’m gross, now? What if he never wants to talk to me again?_

_What if—_

“Oh,” Kuroo says finally, all the confusion in his face clearing. “ _Oh._ That makes so much sense.”

“What?” Kenma asks, his brows knotting. This is not the answer he has been expecting.

“Everything makes sense now.” Kuroo says again, chuckling to himself lightly. His signature Cheshire cat grin is on his lips again, and it is a testament to Kenma’s bewilderment that he doesn’t focus too much on it at once.

“…How,” Kenma finds himself asking warily. His heart is racing again. Oh no, he thinks, has he been found out after all?

“Everything!” Kuroo says emphatically, shaking his head and laughing some more. “I really should have known, I mean that night when I asked you if you liked someone, you were blushing _so_ hard…”

Kenma promptly flushes at the recollection. Lost in his epiphany, Kuroo doesn’t realize.

“…And last night, when you looked all panicky and stuff… man,” he laughs again, clapping his thighs happily. “Everything makes sense, now.”

Kenma nods slowly, wondering if the worst of it was over. He looks down at his feet again, trying not to think too hard about anything.

“So are you going to tell me?” Kuroo asks with a sly smile, and Kenma blinks his gaze to him abruptly, startled. “Who the guy you like is?”

Kenma’s widens his eyes, shocked by the unexpected – though, now when he thinks about it, really quite expected – question. “K-Kuro…” he censures hastily, averting his eyes. “Stop it…”

To his immense relief, Kuroo raises his arms in surrender. “Okay, okay,” He says, laughing lightly (Kenma tries not to seem too flustered by the sound of it). “You can keep it to yourself for now.”

Kenma just blinks, too relieved to articulate anything.

“But when you’re ready, you’ll tell me?”

For the briefest of moments, he dares to lift his eyes to Kuroo’s. But as quickly as they came, they shift downwards once more.

“Right.” He murmurs, wondering whether such a day would ever come.

* * *

And then, alarmingly, life returns to normal.

With just one caveat.

“Kuro,” Kenma frowns when he comes over one Friday some months later to find Kuroo tossing a volleyball into the air by himself on his front lawn. “You’re alone?”

There is a smile on Kuroo’s face. “I broke up with my girlfriend.”

Kenma tilts his head, not understanding why this is a cause to smile. He has long since stopped feeling hopeful upon hearing that sentence. “And…?”

“And nothing.” Kuroo shrugs, still wearing his enigmatic grin, throwing the ball to Kenma. “It’s just… I’m not going to do that anymore.”

Kenma receives it deftly and instinctively, tossing it back to Kuroo without a second thought. “Do what?”

Kuroo is positively beaming as he jumps into the air and smacks the ball into the ground. “The douchebag thing. Dating all those girls like that.”

Six months ago, Kenma might have felt hopeful. But as things currently are, he can only feel some slight satisfaction and… maybe some relief and pride. Relief that Kuroo stopped that nonsense before he hurt himself or someone else. Pride in seeing his best friend take a step forward and put a weakness behind him.

“Sure?” He asks softly, though his lips are twitching with humor.

Kuroo grins back at him. “Sure.”

And true to his word, the girls stop coming. That’s not to say that he didn’t _date_ anymore or anything, he just stopped doing it obsessively. A handsome boy like Kuroo couldn’t go without a date for too long, but this time to Kenma’s relief, he makes sure not to let it take over his life.

His last year of junior high passes by normally enough. When it finally ends, he makes sure to sign up at the same highschool Kuroo goes to, not only because Kuroo pesters him for it, but because he _misses_ hanging out with him at school and playing volleyball with him competitively. It is a place called Nekoma, and in a stark contrast to junior high he signs up for the volleyball club on the first day by himself without Kuroo having to ask him for it once.

At first, he finds it hard to cope with the high standards of the Nekoma volleyball team. Though he knows they mean well, he doesn’t do well under pressure and their constant nagging and bickering nearly makes him quit the team within just the first few weeks.

But of course, Kuroo convinces him otherwise without skipping a beat.

Kenma reaches a small growth spurt as first year passes, both in appearance and as a person. He grows a tiny bit taller and perhaps a bit less scrawnier, maybe due to his vigorous daily training. When his teammates tease him for his strange expression and dark black hair, it is a decision that he makes and carries out all by himself to bleach his hair. The result leaves his old silky locks a horrible brassy color with his roots peeking out from the crown of his head, and for a good minute he panics about looking like a complete idiot.

Of course, he texts Kuroo about it.

_applepi:_ Uh, Kuro, help. I bleached my hair and it looks like a disaster.

_kingkuroo:_ what!!!!! no way!!!! show me right now!!!

Show him? Kenma panics for another minute about that, staring at his white camisole-clad reflection in the bathroom mirror. Show him how? Eventually he ends up taking a nervous mirror selfie, wearing a wide-eyed expression well-suited to his predicament, and sends it to Kuroo without looking at it for a second time lest he lost courage.

_applepi has sent a picture file_

_kingkuroo:_ OMG!!! U ACTUALLY DID IT!!! wait let me look at it properly

Kenma taps his feet against the bathroom floor nervously as he waits for Kuroo to send a response, and hopefully an idea to fix his ugly hair. When at last, his phone dings with a notification, he grabs it with trembling fingers and opens the message hastily.

_kingkuroo:_ hey u lied it actually looks bomb as hell

_kingkuroo:_ omg kenma im not joking u look hot

Kenma flushes to the roots of his horribly bleached hair, reading those two texts over and over again for a million times, much longer than he would admit to anybody – even himself.

And then he decides, looking in the mirror for one last time, that his hair doesn’t look so bad after all.

* * *

His life becomes more or less normal.

Thanks to Kuroo’s influence, he becomes acquainted with not only the other members on the team, but even some students from nearby schools in Tokyo (like that eccentric Bokuto and his faithful sidekick Akaashi from Fukurodani), learns to like and appreciate them even, and when they participate in the National Tournament he plays as the starting setter for the team, for the first time in forever Kenma feels like he truly belongs.

And the best part?

He’ll have Kuroo by his side through it all.

* * *

When things are normal for a long time, one starts to forget what it feels like to experience turmoil. In fact, even Kenma ends up reaching this state almost a year into highschool, shortly after the winter cup and right before the start of the spring semester.

Of course, he still has feelings for Kuroo, but he has more or less come to terms with it all (or so he thinks), and isn’t as much bothered by it anymore. Loving Kuroo has become almost second nature to him, a primeval instinct instilled into his brain that is almost as easy as blinking or breathing. It is something that he has pushed to the very back of his mind, and though it _does_ serve as a purpose in his motives, it no longer happens to be the sole drive of his actions.

This is probably why Kenma is so shaken when the bombshell drops into his life without warning, shattering the glass-like fantasy he has created for himself and named reality in one abrupt, heart-stopping go.

It starts with four words, all emanating from Kuroo’s lips:

“Bokuto, I love someone.”

Kenma freezes in his position outside Kuroo’s door, hand hovering over the doorknob. He doesn’t know what sick masochistic urge made him pause, what horrid self-destructive aspect in his personality convinced him not to run away that instant, but he relents to whatever it is, feeling his heart rise into his throat.

Trembling, he moves closer to the door.

“Hey, hey, hey, bro,” Bokuto’s loud, obnoxious voice carries well and clearly through the wood and all the walls. “Y’don’t need to look so down, you know? Handsome guy like you, I betcha you can get her in no time.”

He hears Kuroo chuckle. “Thanks, bro.” He snickers back, and if Kenma isn’t so heartbroken and stunned he might’ve rolled his eyes. “And you’ve got it wrong. Not her. _Him._ ”

If Kenma had any common sense, he’d have turned and ran right then and there. But he doesn’t.

“Aaaaaaagh!” He hears Bokuto’s surprised yell from inside the room. “Whoa, bro, didn’t know you swung _that_ way! Not that I’m against it or anything, more the opposite”—and Kenma knows right then and there that the last bit is in reference to his setter, Akaashi. If it were any other situation, he might have smiled—“… I’m just surprised.”

Kenma’s mentally running the list of all the girls that has been in Kuroo’s life at one point or the other, and he privately agrees with Bokuto. He _certainly_ hasn’t expected Kuroo to say anything like that.

“I’ve gotta tell somebody.” He hears Kuroo mutter. “It’s… it’s driving me mad, man, you have no clue…”

“Yeah, go ahead, bro,” Bokuto replies, but then interjects almost immediately. “Hey, you and that Kenma guy is attached at the hip, though, why aren’t you telling this to him?”

That’s true, Kenma immediately thinks, feeling inadequate again. Why isn’t Kuroo telling this to him? Granted, it would definitely hurt him a lot more, but still…

“ _Fuck.”_ He hears Kuroo chuckle, and he sounds so… miserable that Kenma pains just to hear it. “Fuck, bro, you have no idea, do you?”

_No idea about what?_ Kenma thinks, both anguished and curious all at once. He kind of wishes Kuroo would stop prolonging breaking his heart and just get on with it.

“Bokuto,” Kuroo begins quietly, and Kenma leans closer in anticipation, knowing that this is it. “When I was eight, I met this boy.”

And here, Kenma’s heart nearly stops altogether.

“He always sat by himself, looking all calm and cool and collected, playing his Gameboy without a care in the world. I’d been so curious about him. I wondered why he didn’t play with the other kids his age.”

He isn’t sure if he is even breathing anymore.

“And then one day this other kid walks up to him and yanks him to the floor for no reason, and _fuck_ , man, I don’t even know what came over me. I’ve never been a hero”—Kenma starts in surprise at this line, even in his dazed state—“but I couldn’t stand watching someone I’d admired so much suffer like that. Man, you should have seen me.” He laughs here. “I scared the shit out of that other kid, and maybe that’s why the boy I was so drawn to didn’t look like he trusted me at first.”

Kuroo knew, even back then. Kuroo always knew.

“And then he looks at me with those big yellow eyes, tells me his name is Kenma, and then continues to play that Gameboy again without a care in the world and I’m like _damn_ , this kid is so cool! I mean, if someone came at me like that and I was that tiny I probably wouldn’t have been able to move out of fright for years!”

They share an appreciative laugh at that. Surprises, Kenma thinks numbly. More and more surprises.

“I was only eight then, but I knew, I still knew, bro. I knew I was fucked. And I _was._ I was hopelessly, terrifyingly fucked, man, you have no idea how much it scared the shit out of me when he came home with scraped hands and dried tears on his cheeks, looking as if someone bullied the soul out of him. I was… I was so far gone, even back then.”

_“What’s wrong,”_ Kuroo would demand. _“You know you can tell me anything,”_ he would say.

“When I got to junior high, everything became too much for me handle and… and… okay, I’m embarrassed to say this, bro, but I snapped. I just snapped. Girls were coming at me left, right and center and he would just stand there without a care in the world, and”—a pause to take a breath. Kenma feels dizzy. –“And at first I did it to make him jealous, but then I did it to make myself numb. And I hated every second of it, every torturous moment, but I did it anyway. But it was all for a lost cause, because I still couldn’t forget him in the end.”

Kuroo sounds like he might be crying.

“And then there was this one day, when… something happened, and I thought, I thought maybe he _does_ like me back and I’ve wondered… dared to hope ever since then… because I asked him who he likes and he tells me that he’ll tell me when he’s ready. And all these years, all this time, I’ve just been sitting and waiting and wishing, hoping that it’s me…”

Kenma is crying, too.

“Fuck.” Kuroo says again, laughing through his tears. “Fuck, bro, I love Kenma so much.”

_I love Kenma so much._

And then the world starts spinning. His ears start ringing. There is nothing he can register except a dazed, numb, unfeeling state of _shock_.

His knees must have given way, because Kenma suddenly finds himself sprawled back on the floor, with a loud sound alerting him from his reverie. He barely has a moment to register this fact, and hasn’t even properly felt terrified when the door swings open to reveal a confused Bokuto and a dazed, tear-streaked Kuroo at the threshold.

For a second, they just take each other in. Truly, completely, take each other in.

Kenma marvels at how beautiful Kuroo is.

Kuroo thinks he might be dreaming.

And then, the moment turns to reality, and Kenma’s heart is racing in his chest once more.

“Kenma…” Kuroo whispers, still punch-drunk, and Kenma doesn’t waste another moment. He does what comes to him instinctively. He gathers his terrified, trembling limbs to his feet and takes off as fast as he can in the other direction, with no intention of ever stopping.

As he steps out onto the road and continues a sprint in a direction he doesn’t even register, he doesn’t know what he is running from anymore. He doesn’t know why he is crying, maybe because this is _Kuroo_ and _Kuroo loves him_ and he can’t believe it and it has to be a joke, a big joke, because it _can’t be true…_

This time around, Kuroo is a bit more prepared.

He doesn’t realize Kuroo has been chasing after him until he feels a strong hand grab onto his shoulder and drag him to a halt. Kenma is still trembling like the earth before an earthquake, his heart thudding against his chest, yearning to break free…

And then Kuroo speaks, and the swirling hurricane raging in his subconscious comes to a sudden, startling standstill.

“Kenma,” He says, panting. “Kenma, look at me.”

He can’t. He just can’t. He very determinedly looks down at his toes, now much larger than they were when he was just a little boy, but still remarkably small.

(Kenma is not a hero.)

He is gasping out tears, sobs and his heaving breath, exhaustion, exhilaration and astonishment all coming together in one crazy cocktail mixture to leave him unable even to breathe.

“Kenma, please, don’t cry. Please look at me.” Kuroo’s strong hands, those fingers he has spent hours dreaming about, slide down from his position on Kenma’s shoulder to entwine with his fingers. Kenma’s eyes brim with a fresh wave of tears as Kuroo squeezes his hand, sending a jolt of warmth and electricity through his body. “I meant what I said. I’m sorry if it startled you, and I’m sorry for keeping it from you for so long. I just hope we can still be friends”—

And then, Kenma realizes that on the other side, Kuroo must also be feeling the _same exact way_ he is… if not worse. And he can’t have that. The last thing he wants is for Kuroo to feel bad about this entire thing—

And then it hits him.

Like really, properly hits him.

Kuroo Tetsurou _loves_ him, Kozume Kenma.

And all of a sudden Kenma is holding onto Kuroo’s hand for dear life, afraid to wake up on the off-chance that this might all end up being a dream.

“Kuro.” He gasps out softly, finally turning his tear-filled amber eyes towards his best friend. “No, you’ve… you’ve got it wrong.”

“What?” Kuroo mutters out in disbelief, his dark eyes widening as Kenma finally turns around to face him.

“Kuro,” he says quietly, a barely audible whisper through his tears. “Kuro, I love you too.”

“No.” Kuroo intones back, hardly daring to believe it. “No, you can’t.”

But he can.

Kenma’s free hand is shaking, but his eyes are – though teary – decidedly calm when he steps closer to Kuroo.

(Because Kenma is a hero, and so is Kuroo.)

“But I do.” He says softly, taking another step to bridge the distance between them.

They are standing really close now, close enough for their toes to touch, close enough for him to be overwhelmed by Kuroo’s warm, familiar scent, close enough for him to reach out with both his arms and wrap them around Kuroo’s large torso, pulling him close. He buries his face against Kuroo’s chest, and is comforted to hear that his heart is racing as fast as Kenma’s own.

And then, miraculously, Kuroo’s arms are wrapped around him, holding him tightly, full of promise and warmth and all things great and wonderful. A fresh wave of emotion hits Kenma like a truck.

(They are both heroes, and it’s completely okay if they don’t have princesses, because they’ll always have each other.)

He realizes how much they have grown by each other’s side, from when they started out as those little boys on that playground all those years ago. He realizes how many experiences they’ve shared together, and how he, Kenma, has grown in so many ways he never expected himself to. He realizes how far he’s come from that quiet, trembling, friendless boy that got saved by his Cecil-like hero.

(But he’s never really needed saving, has he? Kuroo has always reminded Kenma that he is his _own_ hero, has without fail proved this fact… and it marvels Kenma that it has taken him so many years to realize it.)

He realizes that his hands aren’t trembling anymore.

“Kenma,” Kuroo says in a hoarse voice, startling him from his daydream. Kenma looks up and finds him grinning from ear-to-ear and—perhaps for the first time, Kenma is unrestrainedly smiling back. “This isn’t a dream, is it?”

Kenma shakes his head in slight exasperation. “Stupid Kuro.”

“It’s a valid question.” Kuroo says in an exhilarated voice. “And I think we’re _both_ stupid here, for not having realized this all along.”

Kenma allows him that, but doesn’t respond. Instead, he slowly looks up at Kuroo, an unvoiced question echoing in his eyes.

And as always, Kuroo always knows what he is trying to say.

Kuroo leans in, and Kenma reaches up to meet Kuroo’s lips midway. Every inch of his body seems to tingle as they kiss each other softly, hesitantly, _carefully_ for the very first time. It is Kenma’s first kiss, and it’s nothing like he had ever imagined. It feels like a _dream,_ the way Kuroo’s lips glide over his and melds against his skin, sending currents of heat up and down his spine. His entire body feels warm as they pull away for an instant to look at each other, just _look_ without saying anything at all.

Then, Kuroo’s hand is cupping his head, and their lips are back on each other’s once more.

 

(Kuroo is a hero.)

(And somehow, against all odds, so is Kenma.)

 

* * *

 

(Bonus)

Later, much later, when they’ve both calmed down and had a few more conversations, Kuroo gives Kenma a startling piece of news.

“Your phone wallpaper is what?” he intones with raised eyebrows and widened eyes. “Kuro, tell me you are joking.”

Kuroo’s Cheshire cat grin is on his face. “I’m not joking.” He whips out his phone and unlocks it, handing it to Kenma with a sly, mischievous glint in his eyes. “Take a look for yourself.”

And true to his word, there it is: the picture Kenma sent him almost a year ago when he’d bleached his hair and thought it looked like a complete mess. He was standing in front of the mirror with that startled expression, with pink-tinged shoulders and his messy camisole. He immediately flushes a violent crimson, enticing a laugh from Kuroo.

“I will end you, Kuro.” He mutters out, mortified.

“I love you too, Kenma.” He says cheekily, and kisses the top of his head.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is dedicated to everyone who ever felt like they didn't belong somewhere, or ever felt like they weren't enough. Someone loves you all, and who knows? Maybe you're a hero or a heroine in someone else's life, so never lose faith in yourself. I'm so happy our little Kenma finally realized that. 
> 
> I hope you guys loved it!! Thank you so, so much for reading! You're all heroes. 
> 
> PS. props to everyone who catches and recognizes the various game references in this!
> 
> PSS. by popular request: if any of you want to talk to me just drop by my tumblr! ^_^ http://daienkaixoxentei.tumblr.com/
> 
> EDIT: I just realized Kenma plays a PSP in canon, and not a DS. Crap. I'll let it slide, though. Hope you guys don't mind, teehee


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